De-anon from the kink meme. The prompt was Russia doing something extreme/profound to show his love for America for a change, rather than the other way around. I also apologize for once again not updating my current chapter fic. Imsobad;A;
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Russia sat on the windowsill, looking out over the city lights and brooding over the day's events. It had started off simply enough, making up besides America as he did almost every morning. Nothing had been amiss or gone wrong and they'd made it out of the hotel room and to the meeting with little trouble. The biggest event of the morning had been the search for America's tie, which they'd found under the bed after five minutes.
It was the meeting that had been the problem. Not that meetings weren't usually problematic. When you gather all the nations of the world together in one meeting there's not much else to expect that complete chaos, controlled chaos if you're lucky. But this meeting had been especially horrible, if only for the fact that America had completely misunderstood his friendliness with China.
He knew America could be a bit possessive and jealous at times, like a child with a favorite toy, but he had honestly not expected him to overreact that badly. He certainly hadn't expected to be kicked out of bed and banished to the couch with no room to explain. But that was America, he hardly ever listened if he didn't want to.
It had been fairly simple to explain, if he'd been allowed to. America was so tense these days, so tired and drawn. He disliked seeing his sunshine so unlink himself. He smiled less, laughed more quietly, and didn't shine quite so bright. Russia had been going behind the scenes, trying to fix what little things he could. Anything to give America a small amount of rest.
He had started by initiating sex less. He figured that if America used more of his time for sleeping he would not be as troubled by the hardships plaguing him. It had backfired, causing America to become more stressed than before. And what was worse was that now he had drawn the conclusion that Russia didn't want to have sex because he was getting fat or because he didn't love him anymore. Of course, if Russia had known this before he would have assuaged these fears. But they hadn't come to light until after the meeting.
Oh god, the meeting! Russia groaned and cursed his ill luck. What a disaster that had been! He had been watching the American news in their shared hotel room, bored because America was doing paperwork and he did not particularly want to go out and find something to do. The news anchor had mentioned something about the debts to China putting stress on the economy and like a light bulb going off in his head, he knew what he had to do to allow America some well-deserved rest.
China often lorded the debt over America's head, making remarks about it anytime he thought America was being too loud or annoying. It didn't always shut him up, but more and more frequently America just didn't have the energy or willpower to go through with his off the wall schemes after jabs like that. And what was worse is that almost the entire world participated in this! He held a small but significant amount of America's debt as well and you didn't see him taunting the boy about it.
So he had approached China in the meeting, wanting nothing more than to ask him to back off of America for a few days. China had scoffed and basically told him to bug off unless something was in it for him. At which point the older nation had leered suggestively at his crotch. Violet eyes had taken on a manic gleam and a string of 'kol's had issued forth, but it was already too late.
America had been right behind them just long enough to see the suggestive look and nothing more. Russia had felt his heart break, looking into those wide blue eyes so full of hurt. He had tried to take the younger man in his arms, tell him it was all ok and explain himself. But America had run off, tearing out of the meeting room like the hounds of hell were hot on his heels.
And that's how he'd landed in his current predicament: alone on the windowsill, banished to the couch until further notice, and wondering how to win back his lover's affections. It would definitely have been easier to do if the other wasn't so stretched thin and emotionally distraught.
Russia got up from the windowsill and grabbed his coat, slipping it on over the sweater and slacks he was wearing. He would just go for a quick walk and clear his head. Maybe then he would know what to do about this. It was certainly worth a try, da?
The brisk wind of the New England air hit him as soon as he stepped outside. Contrary to popular belief, no matter where you're from cold is cold. So yes, he did shiver a bit as his body responded to the change in temperature naturally. America liked to joke that Russia never got cold in the fairly mild winters here. (in comparison to Siberia, but of course winters at America's house were not all mild.) But of course, America had Death Valley and yet he still got hot in the summer.
The contradiction in their average temperature led to musings about their differences in culture. So many things were different and sometimes it scared him to think about it. He didn't want to do something to mess what they had up because of some cultural misunderstanding. But maybe...maybe thinking more American in terms of how to resolve the current situation would help.
He was not well versed on how Americans went about making up to their partners outside of the few times America and he had fought, only for Alfred to come up with some big apology. He remembered one time, after a fight, when he had come home to find every available surface in his home covered with bouquets of sunflowers and countless notes with various versions of "I'm sorry!" and "Please don't hate me!" written inside. America had even gone so far as to write a few in messy Cyrillic. It had been both touching and amusing, as America's handwriting was deplorable under the best of circumstances.
Maybe that was the way to go? Some grand gesture that was so loud and out there that America couldn't ignore it. But what? America had already done everything he could think of when it came to extreme gestures of love. Copious amounts of flowers, love notes tucked in his coat pocket while he wasn't looking, poetry scrawled on the back of the receipt from their first date. Where was he supposed to go from there?
And then he remembered an episode of one of America's shows, some offensive humor cartoon that still managed to be pretty good and debateably educational. The main character's girlfriend had broken up with him and he'd asked her friend what he should do to get her back. While the advice had backfired on the boy, maybe it would work out better for him?
He took stock of what he would need for his grand gesture of love and scurried back to the hotel room to get a restless night of sleep on the couch so he could implement his plan tomorrow.
He wondered where he could get a guitar.
The next morning was spent in preparation for the afternoon meeting, searching high and low for a guitar that would suit his purposes. He hadn't brought his own from home, not deeming it necessary. In fact, he preferred to keep the fact that he could play at all a secret. He had bought the instrument during the 50s, when rock and roll had started to become big at America's house and the two had drifted apart. It was the one way he could think of to stay close to him. So he had stashed the guitar in an unused room near the back of his house where no one ever went, spending hours on end learning the songs of Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, and others. It had always been his secret, something even America didn't know about him. It had always been much too embarrassing to tell him.
But now, for America, he would do this. He would let the whole world know his secret if it only brought America back to him without anger. He wanted to show him that when he said he loved him he meant it. And he meant that he loved only him and no other. America had to see that, didn't he? And if he didn't then he would definitely know it after today's meeting. And he knew just the song to show him.
After hours of searching he located a fairly nice acoustic guitar for a reasonable price and bought it. And it was a good thing he did, too, because he only had 15 minutes to get to the meeting and set everything up.
It was a rush and he almost didn't make it, but he slid into his seat with three minutes to spare. He drew a few stares, not only because he was uncharacteristically tardy, but because "Is that Russia with a guitar on his back!"
America slumped into the meeting room two minutes later, barely missing being tardy as well. He refused to look at Russia, looking like a kicked puppy. It always broke Russia's heart to see him this way, more so when he was the cause. But hopefully he would feel better once Russia had gone through with his genius (albeit extremely embarrassing) plan.
Three minutes into the meeting, after going over notes from the previous gathering, the floor was opened for any new announcements or concerns. Russia immediately raised his hands, prompting speculative whispers around the room. What was he going to do? And why did he have a guitar?
"I have an announcement to make, if you do not mind. It seems there has been a misunderstanding between America and I and I would like to take care of it immediately before it escalates." He said, looking around for anyone to object. When no one did he rose from his seat and rearranged the guitar so it was slung over his chest rather than his back.
"America. Please believe me when I say that I love you. And if embarrassing myself in front of the entire world by drawing attention to it does not convince you, then I have only this song left."
He started to strum the guitar, fingers working in the familiar patters to form the notes and chords of the song. He could see America's face flush as he recognized the tune, though he still refused to look at him. Though whether it was out of anger, pride, or embarrassment, only time would tell.
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep end out for the ties that bind
Because you're mine, I walk the line
He sang along with the strumming of the guitar, the message clear in the words. It was why he had picked this song. He had always been cautious in love before America, never giving his all for fear of getting hurt.
But with America it was different. He couldn't help giving it his all because America wouldn't let him give anything less. He didn't even realize it, but he demanded all of Russia's attention just by being himself.
He made his way slowly around the long table, the rest of the countries following his every movement with their eyes. It had been awhile since anything so interesting or unexpected had happened in a meeting and they were all happy for the distraction. America was still steadfastly refusing to look Russia in the eye, but his face was bright red and he was obviously fighting down a smile.
I find it very, very easy to be true
I find myself alone when each day's through
I will admit that I'm a fool for you
Because you're mine, I walk the line.
It was true, he had never found it very difficult to stay faithful to America. Even during those lonely nights when they were both required at home and couldn't spend their time together he never yearned for the company of another. Who could compare to someone so bright and alive and full of enthusiasm for everything? There was no one else for him, he was sure. It was why America had to believe him when he said nothing happened with China.
As sure as night is dark and day is light
I keep you on my mind both day and night.
And happiness I've known proves that it's right
Because you're mine, I walk the line
There was never a time when America wasn't on his mind. When they were together he would just watch him, analyze his every action and amass them all into a bigger picture of what exactly the younger nation was all about. When they were apart his thought were all about the next time they would meet, or how America would react to certain things someone said to him, or new jokes to tell him that would make him laugh. Russia loved America's laugh. He put his whole body into it, hands clutching his stomach and face contorting in childish glee.
He'd finally reached America and was standing right in front of him, violet eyes pleading for forgiveness.
America was still not looking at him and for a second Russia thought that it was a lost cause and that his plan had failed and he'd been publicly humiliated for absolutely no reason. But then the blonde glanced up at him, ducking his head as his blush renewed.
You've got a way to keep me on your side
You give me cause for love that I can't hide
For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide
Because you're mine, I walk the line
He would do anything for America, wasn't he proving that right now? He would get down on one knee and beg for his forgiveness if that's what it came to. He would pluck the moon out of the sky if it made him happy. America was looking at him now, staring at him with a mix of wonder and mortification. He may like being the center of attention, but he hated being put on the spot. It was a wonderful contradiction that was so like him.
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the ties that bind
Because you're mine, I walk the line
He ended the song with a small flourish and knelt on the floor before America, taking his hands and gazing up into his eyes.
"I do not know why you would draw the conclusion that I was cheating on you with China, nor that I don't love you. You are my heart, my soul. Please, America, forgive me. I was merely trying to get him to give you some respite on the issue of your debt, perhaps not mention it for a few days. I know how tired you are, lately. I did not want you to be more stressed than necessary."
America stared down at him, apparently speechless. It took long moments before he was able to communicate his thoughts.
"You...you really did all this for me?" He asked, seeming awed.
"Of course. I love you, you should know that by now." He said, raising one of the smaller hands clasped in his larger ones up to his lips and placing a tender kiss there. "Please forgive me?"
"You...you big oaf. Why can't you let me stay mad at you?" He pouted, leaning down to catch Russia's lips in a kiss. "Of course I forgive you. But since when do you know Johnny Cash?"
"That is a long story for another day. But perhaps I will tell you once the meeting has ended." He said, smiling and capturing America in another kiss before rising to his feet and returning to his seat so they could start the meeting in earnest.
The other nations never did find out how Russia knew how to play guitar or Johnny Cash.
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You guys have no clue how much I fecking love this song w JOHNNY CASH! Also: Russia with a guitar is smex. This is actually my first completed fill! Yay me!
Cookies and Internets for whoever guesses which show Russia was thinking of!